Emily and the Stranger (19 page)

Grinning, she ran the tips of her fingers up his arm. "I guessed right, huh?"

"Look, I'm not interested."

"Don't you like blondes?"

"I used to," he told her. "But my tastes have changed. I prefer brunettes now. One brunette in particular."

"Lucky lady." She leaned into Mitch's side, brushing her large breasts against his arm. "Last chance, sweetie. If you don't want what I'm offering, I'll find somebody who does."

"Then go find him,
sweetie,
and leave me the hell alone."

Ignoring the woman, Mitch ordered himself a second beer. Maybe he was stupid to refuse her. Maybe he should buy her a drink and find them a table somewhere. Within an hour he could have her laid out naked on a motel bed, with her legs spread and her arms open wide. God knew he needed a woman. Needed one bad. But just any woman wouldn't do. Not anymore.

A few months ago, he would have taken the blonde up on her offer of "companionship." But not tonight. He'd lost his taste for loose women. Mitch clutched his beer, waiting for the woman to leave.

"Hey, Kellie baby, come over here and meet some friends of mine," a loud masculine voice called out from across the room.

Lifting the beer to his mouth, Mitch took a deep swallow and looked over the edge of his glass, scanning the room. His stomach knotted tightly. For five years he had frequented places like this, places where he could pick up a woman, get drunk cheap and find a few hours of forgetfulness. But he had left that life behind him, and he wasn't going to sink that low again. Not ever.

Mitch paid for his beers and headed for the door. The refreshing night air hit him the moment he stepped outside.

Once he had thought that Emily Jordan's forgiveness would be enough. He'd been wrong. He needed more from her. He needed to find a way to make her happy, to give her the life she truly wanted. Somehow, someway, he was going to do just that.

* * *

Emily stood a discreet distance behind Rod while he worked on his most recent painting. She'd never known a student as talented as Rod; actually, his talent far exceeded hers. But he hadn't quite matured enough to come into his own. He was still searching for his unique style. She had told him that there was only one Monet, one Picasso and one Rod Simmons. Once he truly knew himself well enough to know he must paint for himself and himself alone, he would learn to take risks—risks that could create his best work.

She inspected the still life he was creating, a study in contrasting textures and values. "This painting has been a real challenge to you, hasn't it?"

Rod stepped back a couple of feet, studying his work, then turned to Emily. "Trying to capture the light through those clear glass objects has been one of my most difficult projects. But I think using the series of glazes, each one in a different color, helped me achieve the effect I wanted."

"I'd like to display this piece in our window, once you've finished." Emily laid her hand on Rod's shoulder. He tensed instantly and she wondered why. She had often placed her hand on his back or shoulder and he'd never flinched at her touch the way he'd just done. Emily removed her hand.

Rod stepped away from her, closer to his painting. "All I lack now is the finish."

"Color lifting will soften a highlight edge," Emily commented, her mind wandering as she checked her watch. Charles was supposed to pick her up at six and it was five till now. They were going to meet Uncle Fowler for dinner and both men would be displeased that she hadn't taken time to run home and change. But this last class of the day had run over a few minutes and when Rod had asked if he could stay and speak privately to her, she'd agreed.

"I appreciate all the extra time you give me, Emily." Rod began gathering up his supplies. "You're really a wonderful person."

Rod's innocent compliment stirred a sense of uneasiness in Emily. Since the break-in, she'd been questioning every little comment others made, especially men. Even though nothing else had happened, not even a note or phone call, she didn't feel completely safe. Uncle Fowler had tried to convince the police that Mitch Hayden was behind Emily's harassment and the break-in, that he could have easily hired someone to ransack Emily's home while he wined and dined her. Nikki still thought Charles was the culprit, but then, Nikki didn't like Charles and made no secret of the fact she thought Emily was an idiot for dating him again. And now here Emily was suspecting Rod, simply because he'd told her she was a wonderful person.

"I'm more than glad to give a talented student a little extra help," Emily said. "Rod, I don't mean to rush you, but I do have a date tonight, so could you tell me why you needed to see me privately?"

"Is your date with that Mitch guy?" Rod peered at her with eyes narrowed to slits. A harsh frown marred his youthfully pretty face.

"No, it isn't, but I hardly think that's any of your business."

"I'm sorry. You're right." Rod proceeded with the cleanup job he'd started. "I asked you to stay over because … well, I … er…" Turning abruptly, he unbalanced his easel. Just as it began to topple, he reached out and grabbed it. With his back to Emily, he said, "I'm awfully sorry about what happened at your house. I think it's terrible that anyone would be that destructive."

"How did you know about—"

"The police questioned me." Rod turned around slowly and lifted his eyes to gaze directly into Emily's face. "I hope you know that I'd never break into your house and destroy your nice things. I'd never do anything to hurt you."

Rod was the second man in her life who had sworn he'd never do anything to hurt her. And she wanted to believe them both. "Rod, no one has accused you of anything. I'm sure the police are questioning many of the people I know. Probably all of my male art students, since my mystery caller is definitely male."

Rod's face turned crimson beneath his tan. "Well, there's a big difference in calling someone and sending them letters and in breaking into their house. I mean calls and letters aren't destructive. They don't hurt anyone. But breaking into a person's house is a different matter altogether."

"You're right." Emily wished she didn't feel so nervous simply because she was alone with Rod in her upstairs studio. She was being silly. Of course Rod would never hurt her. Besides, Nikki was still downstairs. All she had to do was call out her name and she'd come running.

"I'd say that they're two different people, wouldn't you?"

"What?" The more Rod talked, the more uneasy Emily became. A sudden sense to run almost overcame her. She backed slowly away from. Rod.

He took several tentative steps toward her. "Don't you think it's possible that whoever broke into your home is someone other than the man who's been calling you and sending you letters?"

"The police seem to think it's the same person," Emily said. "They think we might be dealing with a stalker."

"No, you aren't!" Rod surveyed the room quickly, as if he were looking for an escape. "What I mean is that whoever broke into your house might be a stalker, but not the other person."

"Why do you think that?" Emily checked her watch again. "Rod, I'm sorry, but—"

"Emily," Nikki called out from the stairway.

"Yes," Emily replied. "What is it?"

"Charles is here."

"Tell him I'll be right down." Emily rushed to the stairs, halted momentarily and glanced back at Rod. He looked like a lost and frightened kid. Suddenly she felt very foolish for suspecting him. "Thanks for trying to help me make sense of this mess, but why don't we leave all the theorizing to the police."

"I suppose you're right. Goodbye, Emily. Have a nice time tonight."

"See you day after tomorrow."

Emily rushed downstairs. When she reached the bottom, Nikki pulled her aside, into the storeroom.

"Nikki, what are you doing?" Planting her hands firmly on her hips, Emily glared at her friend.

"You're making a major mistake dating Charles Tolbert."

"Stay out of this. Whom I choose to date is my business."

"The only reason you're dating Charles is because of what happened with Mitch." Nikki pointed her index finger in Emily's face. "You're doing just what Charles and your uncle wanted you to do. You're falling back into the safe life Fowler Jordan planned for you."

"Right now, a safe life doesn't seem so bad," Emily said. "Not after what happened with Mitch. I took a chance on love and see what it got me." Emily opened her hands, palms up, in an exasperated gesture. "My God, Nikki, I fell in love with a man whose construction firm was responsible for Stuart's death!"

"Mitch Hayden didn't kill Stuart or your baby. He isn't responsible for the scars on your back."

Emily dropped her hands to her sides and nervously rubbed them against her hips. "I can't discuss this right now. I don't want to talk about Mitch. I don't want to think about Mitch. All I want to do is forget him."

Emily ran from the storeroom, slowing her pace when she saw Charles waiting by the counter, a concerned look on his face.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

"Yes, of course. Everything's fine." She walked behind the counter. "Just let me get my purse and I'll be ready to go."

"Are you sure you're all right? Nothing has happened, has it?" Charles asked. "You haven't had any more calls or letters, have you?"

"No, I haven't. Nothing is wrong. I'm just running behind a little this evening." Emily picked up her purse, came out from behind the counter and smiled at Charles. "I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to go home and change."

"Your slacks are a bit casual, but you look lovely." Charles took her arm and draped it over his.

"Nikki," Emily called out. "Don't wait up for me tonight. I don't know what time I'll be home."

Nikki appeared in the storeroom doorway. "Stay out as late as you'd like, and have fun."

Nikki's smile was pure devilment, and Emily knew what her friend was thinking. She might as well have said it aloud.
Have fun. If you can have any fun with someone as boring as Charles.

"I'm sure we'll have a delightful time," Emily said, then walked out the door with her date.

She might not have fun with Charles Tolbert, but she would be safe. Uncle Fowler had kept her safe for five years, but as soon as she'd left his protection, her life began to unravel. Letters and phone calls from a secret admirer. Her house broken into and her living room ransacked. But worst of all, she had opened herself up for love again and had been destroyed by a truth she still didn't want to face.

Chapter 11

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E
mily and Nikki had felt somewhat obligated to attend Zed Banning's annual big bash since Zed had tried in every way possible to help Emily after the devastating truth about Mitch came out. And he
had
hand-delivered their invitation to this gala affair.

Emily had invited Charles to be her escort, which had pleased not only Charles, but Uncle Fowler, as well. Now that she was no longer seeing Mitch Hayden, her life seemed to be back on track. The same old safe but boring track it had been on before she'd moved out of Uncle Fowler's home. Her uncle was already talking about her wedding to Charles. And no matter how many times she told him that she wasn't going to marry his young protégé, he didn't listen.

Zed held his black-tie party at the Neptune Room of the Ocean Side Hotel. It was reported that Zed owned the hotel, which his construction company had built on the Gulf about seven years ago.

Emily wasn't overly fond of loud music and huge crowds, but she agreed with Nikki that good manners dictated that they at least put in an appearance. Emily just wished that Nikki had chosen a different date. "I feel sorry for Rod, mooning around over you all the time. I just think he needs to realize you aren't the only woman in the world. It'll be good for him, and for you, too." How could Emily argue against such reasoning?

The moment the four of them entered the room, Emily wished they hadn't come. The lounge was packed with people dressed to the nines. Beautiful women and wealthy men. Zed's friends, acquaintances and business associates.

She had been raised with money and social position, but her family hadn't been wealthy enough to expose her to the upper echelon of high society, where multimillionaires and billionaires rubbed elbows with movie stars and world leaders. And even though Uncle Fowler's inherited wealth did give him entrance to this world, he seldom ventured into it.

"Some shindig, huh?" Puckering her lips, Nikki sucked in her cheeks. "Reminds me of the parties Mother and Warner used to give."

"Let's make a pact tonight," Emily whispered. "Neither of us is going to talk about or even think about the past."

"I promise," Nikki agreed.

"I suppose, if one is as wealthy as Mr. Banning, one can afford to throw away good money on these frivolous affairs." With his long, thin nose turned up in a snobbish manner, Charles Tolbert glanced around the room. "A vulgar display of wealth." He tsk-tsked loudly.

Emily frowned at him. "If you'd rather not have come with me tonight, I would have understood." She patted his arm with a mock show of concern. "I know how you dislike attending parties when you don't know anyone."